


1 - Tell Me About Despair, Yours, and I Will Tell You Mine

by saltysarah



Series: For I Still Live [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Soldiers, Family Feels, Gen, Planet Melida | Daan (Star Wars), Pre-Relationship, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29838042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltysarah/pseuds/saltysarah
Summary: On the way to Korda VI, a minor supplies error forces Jaster Mereel to make an unplanned pitstop on the closest planet, Melida/Daan. That changes everything.
Relationships: Cerasi & Obi-Wan Kenobi & Nield, Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett & Myles the Mandalorian (Star Wars), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jaster Mereel
Series: For I Still Live [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193600
Comments: 19
Kudos: 362





	1 - Tell Me About Despair, Yours, and I Will Tell You Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ib'tuur Jatne Tuur Ash'ad Kyr'amur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581780) by [ziggyzigzagged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziggyzigzagged/pseuds/ziggyzigzagged). 



> I hc Obi as 14, Cerasi as mid-15, and Nield 15 going on 13, the angsty bitch. Admittedly, a lot of character interpretations are based on fanon. Cerasi isn't dead and Nield got over himself. 
> 
> This is currently a 3-part series, of which 3 is written but in flux and 2 is a WIP that could throw 3 out the window. (I may also have written an AU of this AU welp)

Stealth was the only thing still keeping the Young alive. They were smaller, if not always quicker, and had so much more to lose. The Elders were confident in their superiority, never allowed their growing fear to show with how the Young were gnawing away at their numbers, their resources, and their pride, but Obi-Wan was one with the Force, no matter what Master Jinn had said.

“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” he whispered before dashing out of cover, ignoring the kick of dust 2 steps behind that said he’d been spotted, and skidded under an overhanging of rock. From there, he could take aim, waiting for the exact moment the Elder leant too far forward to take his shot. They was dead before they hit the ground, their weapons and ammunition with them, and it was child’s play to summon their supplies to him with the Force.

If Crechemaster Zhev Tay could see him now, Obi-Wan thought bitterly, and then shut his eyes, stealing a moment to release his emotions while his hands worked, automatically packing away his newly acquired weapons, ammunition, and supplies. The Force had led him to this target on purpose; this Elder had _medical supplies._ Relief welled up in his chest, bubbling up and then washed over the rest of him, a more relaxed offering to the Force.

There was a grate on the other side of the overhang, and Obi-Wan could easily push the camouflaging rock aside, slide in the grate, and Force-lift the rock back over. From there it was a matter of navigating his internal map of the sewers back to their current base of attack.

The Young moved their able-bodied soldiers as frequently as was safe, not only to keep the Elders on their toes but also to draw fire from their actual base camp, where those injured and too young to fight stayed.

“Obi-Wan!”

Cerasi lit up with joy and relief at the sight of him, and he had to smile. Nield’s greeting was more reserved, but his presence in the Force was enveloping, radiating a desperate sort of warmth.

“I got some medical supplies,” Obi-Wan said, passing the pouch immediately to Khiyosh, their medic. “Some extra ammunition and another rifle, too, a couple of blades. I kept one for my boot.”

Nield took the offered weapons, but he was mostly focused on Khiyosh as they rummaged through the pouch, hope radiating out of them.

“The bacta patches and clean bandages - we’ll have to ration them, but they’ll go a long way,” the younger child said, shoulders sagging with relief. “Thanks, Obi.”

“I’ll try and get more where I can,” he promised, clasping Khiyosh’s arm.

“Don’t put yourself at risk,” he was warned. “I’m going to be really angry if you end up needing one of those bacta patches yourself!”

It went without saying that if the Elders caught him, he was as good as dead. All of the Young were.

Still, Obi-Wan just smiled, tightening his grip on Khiyosh briefly before relaxing. “I’ll try,” he promised.

Khiyosh huffed, clearly hearing the words he wasn’t saying, but ducked out of their group, their mind already back to their medical encampment. There were a couple of other Young standing idly at the side of the tunnel, clearly waiting for Khiyosh to be done so they could escort them back.

“What were they doing all the way out here?” Obi-Wan asked Cerasi and Nield. Their head medic rarely ever left the base camp, but no one seemed injured, and there was just a general sense of anticipation in the Force.

“Khiyosh wanted a regroup,” Cerasi explained, since Nield seemed too busy scowling in their medic's direction. “One of the Babbies spotted a ship landing - not near the camp, not really, but near enough to be visible. We need to assess the threat level, and they want all hands on deck if we need to move.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips tightly together, hating how the Babbies - those 5 and under - had been the ones to spy this latest threat.

“Any movement from the Elders?” he asked as he began to follow Khiyosh and their team, Nield bringing up their rear.

“Chatter on the frequencies,” the older boy said gruffly, “but they don’t seem to know who these ones are, either. I’ve never seen a ship like that before.”

It wasn’t surprising, as Melida/Daan had been largely insular for generations, too embroiled in their civil war to spare any attention for the greater galaxy.

“I’ll take point?” he offered.

“That’s probably for the best,” Cerasi admitted, gnawing on her lower lip. “They’re really near our main water source.”

Obi-Wan spat out a curse. Their main camp had been chosen expressly for that reason, since the underground spring had provided them with an unceasing supply of water for the entire conflict. They’d had to be firm with the other Young to ensure it wasn’t polluted, not even by accident, but fresh water would get them a long way even as they were absolutely scavenging for food. Obi-Wan had absolutely no qualms in blockading the Elders’ own access points to water, even if he drew a line at contaminating the source.

“Rifles,” he thought aloud. “We want to keep our distance until we know what we’re up against.”

Nield nodded grimly. “I’ll coordinate from camp,” Cerasi offered. She wasn’t as good a shot as either of them with a rifle, and Force knew they needed all the ammunition they could get.

“If you could see where we are with the packing?” he asked.

“Do you really think we’ll have to move?” Cerasi asked, openly upset.

“I don’t know,” he relented, “but it’s best to assume the worst. If nothing else, we need to be packed to go at any point in time. Even if _this_ ship isn’t a danger, that doesn’t mean the next one won’t be. I’d rather we get used to moving than be complacent.”

“Where are we going, though?” Nield asked.

Obi-Wan let his shoulders sag. “I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll luck out with another underground spring. You 2 know the terrain best- or at least you know who would know the terrain best. Any suggestions?”

Nield’s face spasmed. “I- don’t-.”

“That’s okay,” Cerasi said, setting a had on Nield’s shoulder. “I’m coordinating, remember? I’ll ask around. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few different places lined up, just in case.”

Obi-Wan smiled, reaching back for Nield’s hand. “Thanks, Ces,” he said. “Come on, Nield. I need you with me.”

The camp was aflutter when they returned, not quite in a panic, but the Young were definitely on edge.

“Khiyosh, could we speak to the Babby who spotted the ship?” he asked.

The younger child sent him a lopsided grin. “Already got you covered,” they replied, jerking their chin at a couple of small, grimy heads bent together, casually guarded by another Young.

“Nield, can you get our supplies sorted?” Obi-Wan asked, handing him his rifle. “Cerasi and I have this.”

Nield’s dark eyes flickered between him and the two Babbies before a grimace flickered across his face. “Better you than me,” he muttered, forcefully knocking their shoulders together before striding off, Obi-Wan’s rifle in hand.

“That’s how he shows he cares,” Cerasi giggled as Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at Nield’s dramatics.

“Force be with any younglings of his own,” he muttered, before nodding to the Young on guard and slowly approaching the Babbies, who stared up at him warily.

“Hello, I’m Obi-Wan and this is Cerasi,” he began in the gentlest tone he could manage. “Khiyosh told me you did a very brave thing today.”

The 2 Babbies glanced at each other, wordlessly communicating. The smaller one opened their mouth, revealing adorable gap teeth.

“Was watchin’ th’ water,” they mumbled. “Th’ ship fell outta th’ sky an’ 2 robots came out.”

“Robots?” Obi-Wan blurted out.

The other Babby glanced at Gap Teeth, sucking their thumb as they spoke. “Them was different colours, an’ there was an Elder one an’ a Young one.”

“Robots,” he repeated, turning the thought over in his head and not particularly liking the conclusion he was drawing.

“Obi-Wan?” Cerasi asked, gripping his arm.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head, “I won’t say anything until I see it for myself.”

“Wha’s your magic say?” Thumb asked, their words garbled.

Obi-Wan huffed as Cerasi chuckled. “The Force isn’t magic,” he sniffed, theatrically hoisting his nose in the air. He was rewarded by the Babbies' hiccoughing giggles. “But it’s…not warning me away, or anything.” Cerasi watched him keenly as he spoke. She knew better than anyone other than Nield just how many times his ‘magic’ had saved them.

“It’s expecting something.”

“Expecting…what?” It was Cerasi’s turn to watch him warily as she began to chew her lip again, a habit she’d never quite lost.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “It’s not really telling me either way, it’s just…expecting. It’s not a _bad_ thing,” he quickly reassured her when worry deepened the frown between Cerasi’s brows.

“But you don’t know that it’s good, either,” she summed up for him.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yeah, I just know that something’s coming, something will happen that will- _change_ things. Change isn’t necessarily good or bad; sometimes it just _is.”_

“You and your magic,” Cerasi muttered, on purpose because she knew how much it irritated him to hear the Force being referred to as such.

He huffed again before turning back to the Babbies. Their initial wariness had worn off, at least.

“Thank you very much for being so brave,” Obi-Wan said, inclining his head to them both. “Now, I believe Khiyosh could use some help. Don’t you think?”

The 2 of them nodded so hard he was momentarily afeared their heads would fly off. Wincing, he looked up at their guard. “Could you see them to Khiyosh? Thank you.”

Obi-Wan pushed upright with a groan, extending Cerasi a helping hand to pull her up. “I’m getting old,” he grumbled, rubbing at the persistent ache in his lower back. If he were being honest, his whole body was aching in some way or other.

“Don’t let Nield hear you say that,” Cerasi said with a laugh.

“Don’t let me hear what?”

“Too late,” Obi-Wan mumbled, reaching for his rifle only for Nield to grin and hold it out of reach, unmoved by his glare.

“Don’t let me hear _what?”_ Nield pressed, his grin widening. It was a good look on a face that was too accustomed to looking stern.

“That you’re being a git,” he hissed, stepping right into Nield's space to snatch his rifle away, but Cerasi quickly moved behind him and threw her arms around them both.

“Surprise hug!” she exclaimed, using her marginally greater height and reach to hold them tight.

“Ugh, Cerasi, _feelings,”_ Nield whined, but he did nuzzle the top of Obi-Wan’s head and press his cheek against Cerasi’s.

She smiled, as bright as a star, and dropped a kiss on both of their foreheads. “Come back to us,” she ordered fiercely.

"We'll won't stop trying," they chorused together.

“Oh, and Nield?”

“What is it now?”

“Obi-Wan called you old.”

He was barely able to get out a squeek of protest before Nield scooped him up.

“I did no such thing!” Obi-Wan yelped, struggling in Nield’s hold. “I called _myself_ old.”

 _“I’m_ older than you,” Nield growled but never went for the predictable headlock, which Obi-Wan was incredibly grateful for. In all of their brief moments of play and rough-housing, even while training their fellow Young in basic hand-to-hand, Nield had never touched him there. On his darker days, Obi-Wan privately thought he would never be able to forget the feeling of that slave collar around his neck.

“Boys,” Cerasi chided, but her eyes were laughing.

With one last grunt, Nield released him, although he didn’t let him go far.

“Come on,” Nield said gruffly, “the sooner we get this settled, the sooner we can decide where to go next. Ces, you’ll settle our next location if we need to move?”

She smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry about us, just figure out what’s going on out there and come back.”

Nield and he glanced at each other. “We can do that,” he agreed.

* * *

Robots, Obi-Wan thought hysterically, one Elder and one Younger.

“Robots?” Nield murmured in his ear, echoing his thoughts.

“They’re not robots,” he breathed, clamping down on the fear in his mind, “they’re _Mandalorians._ I don’t know why they’re here, though.”

“Mando what?”

“Mandalorians,” he rasped. “They’re- a warrior culture, bounty hunters.”

“Bounty hunters?” Nield frowned. “What in the world are they hunting for?”

Their eyes widened as they both realised the same thing at the same time.

Nield slammed his eyes shut to hide the welling despair in them. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that the Elders got tired of us and hired professionals to finish the job.”

Obi-Wan pushed back the fear that threatened to paralyse him. “Get back to camp,” he whispered.

_“What?”_

“Get back to camp,” he insisted, one hand on Nield’s chest as he met the older boy’s incredulous stare. “You need to warn Ces and the others; all of you need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving without you!”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. “That’s- very sweet of you-.”

 _“Kriff sweet,”_ Nield hissed, jostling him. “I’m not leaving you here to die for our sakes.”

“I’m not planning on dying,” he retorted, the lie bitter on his tongue, “but you need time to move the camp, and I’m going to buy you that time.” He smiled wanly. “Besides, you know me and my magic,” he joked.

“You must be out of your mind if you’re referring to that Force of yours as magic,” Nield whispered, grounding their foreheads together, hard.

Obi-Wan was, as a matter of fact, nearly out of his mind with fear, but it wouldn’t help anyone if he gave into it now. He’d forged on through said fear back in Coruscant, at Bandomeer, and so very many times on Melida/Daan, and would continue to keep doing so for as long as he was able to.

“You have to come back to us,” Nield insisted.

They were so close they could share the same breaths. He could smell the stale sweat and sourness of fear that was common to all the Young.

“I won’t stop trying.”

That was the only promise he could give.

Nield bit out a curse, his hands tightening on him.

“Take the ammo-.”

“No,” Obi-Wan was already shaking his head, “you’ll need it too. Go on, get out of here. I’ll find you, you know I will.”

“Ces will kill me when I show up all on my own.”

“Tell her to save her murder for when she gets her hands on the _both_ of us,” he teased.

Nield tapped their heads together again, his fingers lingering as they cupped his face. There were words on the tip of Obi-Wan’s mouth that he so badly wanted to say, but this wasn’t the time. Maybe there never would be a time. Before he could decide, Nield was gone.

Obi-Wan was afraid. He was generating fear faster than he could release it into the Force, but it didn’t lead to hate. In fact, it only led to more fear. Fear that he would fail, that the rest of the Young would fall. Fear, because the Young looked at him and Cerasi and Nield to know what they were doing, but Obi-Wan, as the only one of the 3 who’d ever travelled beyond this planet, knew just how uncommon it was for sentients their age to know anything at all.

That wasn’t even taking into consideration just what the Mandalorians would do to him once they found out he was - or had been - a Jedi.

That was part of the reason why he’d sent Nield away; selfishly, he hadn’t wanted that sight to be the last memories Nield had of him. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his own memories, letting a tear or 2 well up, unbidden. Cerasi laughing, and the tender kiss she had pressed to his forehead. He could still recall Nield’s warmth beside him, the strong grip of Khiyosh's hand, the Babbies’ shy giggles.

Since this was the last time he expected to be able to do so, Obi-Wan let himself indulge in even earlier memories of the creche, of Bant and Quin and Garen and Reeft and Siri, all of them piled together, warm in heart and one in the Force. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. He’d never gotten to say goodbye.

His fear and regret were bordering on despair, now. Obi-Wan inhaled as deeply as he could, feeling the oxygen expand in his lungs before exhaling and releasing everything that he was and everything he’d had into the Force. He could still hear Master Jinn’s voice, hard and unyielding as he proclaimed that Obi-Wan had made his choice.

Yes, he had, and had never once regretted it, not when his bones ached or his belly went hungry, not when he killed and stole, not when his hands covered broken bodies and felt the life leave them.

The Young would be safe, and Cerasi and Nield would live on. Obi-Wan would see to it if it was the last thing he did.

He crept closer to the Mandalorian ship, biting his tongue when his eyes told him one thing and the Force told him another. He could barely feel the 2 Mandalorians’ presence, possibly due to their heavy-duty armour that had them resembling robots. But then- the 2 minds he _could_ feel-.

Obi-Wan culled the instinctive wave of fear before it could fully crest. That was _Rod and Rizzo_ out there, their secondary scouting team, laid out in front of the ship as if they were sacrifices - or bait. Just when he thought the Mandalorians couldn’t sink any lower, he thought bitterly.

Thankfully, the 2 Young seemed largely unharmed if unconscious, and he could spy white bandages under their clothes, bizarrely enough. Khiyosh hadn’t had any bandages to spare for months now, and it seemed incredibly wasteful for the Mandalorians to waste bandages on Rod and Rizzo just to turn around and execute them.

Then again, Obi-Wan couldn’t begin to guess at the minds of the Elders, let alone the Mandalorians under their employ, and he was glad he couldn’t. It wasn’t a mindset he’d ever want to understand.

He took another deep breath to calm himself. He’d only have one shot at this, and he couldn’t miss. He raised his rifle, feeling the Force buoy his elbows into position.

 _There._ The 2 Mandalorians moved into his sight. He couldn’t tell the thickness of their armour from here, but neck plates would always be more vulnerable. How he’d _move_ Rod and Rizzo, with the 2 of them still unconscious, was another question entirely, but that was a problem for the Obi-Wan 10 minutes into the future, not the Obi-Wan of the present.

He took aim and fired 2 rapid shots, one after the other.

The Mandalorians crumpled to the ground in a crash of heavy armour. Obi-Wan pushed the Force out around him and to his relief, found his surroundings empty of life apart from them. He leapt out of his hiding place and ran straight for Rod and Rizzo, sliding to his knees beside them.

“Rod, Rizzo, wake up!” he hissed, only feeling a little guilty when he jolted them awake with a touch of the Force. The 2 girls jerked to attention, too used to being on a battlefield to do more than groan.

“Are you hurt?” he pressed. “I mean, I can see the bandages, but are you hurt anymore than that?”

“I- no,” Rod coughed, rubbing her head, “we were-,” and then she was too busy coughing to say anymore.

Obi-Wan swallowed back his fear at the bloody flecks on Rod’s lips, rubbing her back soothingly.

“We got caught,” Rizzo muttered, sitting upright with a wince. “The Elders - was a trap, an’ we got th’ first level, but we missed th’ second one.”

Obi-Wan frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the fallen Mandalorians.

“How did you end up with _them?”_

“See, tha’s th’ weird thing,” Rizzo said, rolling out her shoulders. Both of their utility belts had been emptied. The loss of weapons stung, but he’d take more Young alive, any day. “I’m pretty sure th’ Elders were gonna kill us, but then these 2 dropped outta nowhere and dropped _them_ instead.”

His frown deepened. “But you were unconscious.”

Rod shook her head tiredly. “Got knocked around,” she rasped.

“Think you can keep some water down?” Obi-Wan asked, reaching for his canteen.

Rod nodded, then winced, holding her head carefully still. “Try.”

He passed her his canteen before settling back on his heels to look at the Mandalorians' ship, his eye lingering on the 2 armoured corpses beside them. No regrets, even if he still didn’t quite understand their connexion to the Elders - or the Young, for that matter.

“Not sure what we’re gonna do with a ship, but at the very least we can raid it for supplies,” he sighed.

“I would prefer you not, since resupplying was what brought us to this _shabuir_ planet in the first place.”

Obi-Wan yelped and blindly reacted, shoving back with the Force. The larger Mandalorian flew back, their red cape flaring dramatically as they crashed against the side of the ship, but the smaller one had leapt to their feet, blaster in hand. Obi-Wan had his rifle back up, not even reacting when Rod and Rizzo armed themselves with knives scavenged from his belt and boots.

 _“Jetii,”_ the smaller one snarled, and Obi-Wan didn’t need to understand their words to hear his fury.

“Get behind me,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. He’d never deflected a shot from a blaster with anything other than a lightsaber, let alone at this distance, but he’d had a lot of firsts since stepping foot on Melida/Daan; nothing like desperation to drive his learning curve.

“Jango, stand down,” the larger Mandalorian ordered, even as he pushed upright. Obi-Wan’s gaze flickered between the 2 Mandalorians, but the smaller one was clearly the bigger threat.

“But _Buir-!”_

“You don’t point your _di’kut_ blaster at _ad’e,_ Jango,” the larger one interrupted, now fully upright, hands held out on either side.

“He’s not _ad, Buir,_ he’s _jetii,”_ Jango, the smaller one, hissed.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think they let their _jetii’ad’e_ wander around a battlefield,” the larger one, Buir, returned, enviously casual. “I’m going to take my helmet off.”

_“Buir!”_

_"Naac,_ Jango, it’ll be alright.”

Obi-Wan’s rifle didn’t waver from Jango even as he kept one eye on Buir. The helmet came off to reveal a humanoid male with olive skin, short-cropped dark hair, and a twice-broken nose. Obi-Wan carefully inhaled at the man’s Force presence flooding across his senses; it seemed the armour had somehow dampened it. All he could feel from Buir was comfort and safety and a well-honed edge of danger, but it wasn’t aimed at them.

“I am Jaster Mereel, _Mand’alor_ and _Al’Ori’Ramikade.”_ He had gentle eyes, and Obi-Wan did _not_ swallow down a lump in his throat at the kindness he read in them. “You’re far from Coruscant, _jetii’ad.”_

“Your name’s not Buir?” Obi-Wan asked cautiously. “He called you Buir.”

Jango sputtered indignantly. Buir - _Jaster_ \- laughed, never once losing the kindness in his eyes. It had been a very, very long time since an adult had looked at him with such kindness. “Jango calls me _Buir_ because I am his parent. You may call me Jaster.”

“How’d you know he was from Coruscant?” Rizzo demanded. She had one hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, Rod pressed protectively between them. Obi-Wan had a sneaking suspicion she had palmed both his throwing knives, too; they wouldn’t be much help against armour, but Rizzo didn’t miss at anything less than 50 paces.

“That is where the _jetii,_ the Jedi,are from, is it not?” Jaster countered mildly.

There was that tooka out of the bag.

“You called ‘em something else, too,” Rod pressed, her voice rough from coughing, but at least she was speaking evenly now. She tucked his canteen back in its pouch, one hand pressed between his shoulderblades in thanks.

 _“Jetii’ad,”_ Jaster easily supplied. “It means child Jedi.”

“I’m not,” he blurted out, the feeling of being an imposter twisting his belly. Jaster cocked his head at him, pointedly looking between where he’d been lying before and where he currently was standing. At any other time, Obi-Wan might have been impressed at armour that permitted its wearers to get shot in the throat and stand back up with just a scuff to mark the metal.

“Not anymore,” he admitted. “I gave that up, I made my choice.”

“Obi-,” Rod whispered.

“It’s fine,” he cut her off, “I’m fine.”

Jaster simply nodded his acceptance of his words without pressing for details. “We weren’t planning to stop here, but a miscalculation on our part required us to resupply and refuel.”

Rizzo’s head cautiously popped up over his shoulder. “You’re not with the Elders?” she asked suspiciously, her fingers pressing down. All the Young knew Obi-Wan would be able to tell if Jaster were lying. If that were the case...he could shoot Jaster, but Jango would almost definitely shoot him. If Rod and Rizzo could use his body as a meatshield and overpower Jango, prying his armour open, they might stand a chance. Perhaps if he could use the Force to pull Jango’s helmet off.

The metal had felt strangely slippery to his senses, though. Even shoving Jaster had been more of a shove of the air surrounding the man, not the man himself.

Rod’s small hand pressed between his shoulderblades again. He knew the girls would do whatever it would take to stay alive.

“I’ve never set foot on Melida/Daan in my life,” Jaster replied. “I didn’t even know there was a war - there’s barely any information about this system. It just happened to be the closest planet to where we were - we were on the way to a job.”

The Force abruptly seized him.

Jaster, once again in full armour, strong and unyielding on a barren land, blaster held aloft. Jaster, fleeing, betrayed as the ragged tatters of his brilliantly red cape fluttered behind him like a target and a pennant, all in one. A blaster bolt clipped his leg, bringing him to his knees. A whole barrage of blaster bolts, spearing him through. Jaster’s broken body in Jango’s arms, his limp hand clasped to Jango’s chest.

"Obi-Wan! _Obi-Wan!”_

“What’s wrong with him?” That was Jaster’s voice, from much nearer than he’d previously been, tight with urgency.

“This happens sometimes,” Rod whispered. “He’ll see something with his magic and it’ll save us, but he gets like this.”

“Force _osik.”_ That was Jango’s voice, bitten off like a curse.

“Would water help?” Jaster asked.

“I drank the last of it,” Rod fretted, guilt souring her presence.

“Here,” Jaster offered, “I have some.”

There was a weighty pause.

“I’ll drink some of it first to prove it isn’t poisoned,” Jaster said. “I’ll get Jango to drink it too, if that will help.”

Another pause, and then Rizzo’s voice, gruff and strong. “Do it.”

_“Buir-.”_

“Jango, it’s alright,” Jaster coaxed, and then there were some foreign noises before yet another Force presence flickered into being. Jango felt younger than Jaster, irritation, worry, and fear twisting around in his mind. He didn’t like looking at them, didn’t like what they reminded him of, but there was pity there, too.

Jango could keep it, Obi-Wan thought. Pity had never done the Young any good.

“Okay,” Rizzo said, and Obi-Wan could feel the heat of her stretching out over him as she took Jaster’s canteen and held it to his lips. The first bit was more to wet his mouth than anything else, but he licked his lips, tasting unfamiliar minerals in the cool liquid before he swallowed.

His lashes flickered as he tried to open his eyes.

“How are you feeling, _jeti’ika?”_

“I’m fi-.” The first thing he saw was Rizzo’s unimpressed face. “I’ll be fine,” he amended to Rod’s giggles. Jaster and even Jango felt amused. “This is more important.”

“What is, _jeti’ika?”_

Obi-Wan sat upright, Rod holding his hand and Rizzo supporting his back, his rifle beside them. Jaster was on one knee nearby, his helmet set on the ground by his foot. Jango was the only one left standing but his blaster was back in its holster.

“Jaster,” he said, tasting the man’s name on his tongue. It was the name of a good man, even if no one could be good _all_ the time, but Jaster would do his best each time. It was the name of an honourable man, one who loved his family and those under his command, one who strived to be better every day he was alive.

The man smiled at him. His face was worn, but those were laugh lines, too. “What is it, _jeti’ika?”_ he repeated.

“Jaster, if you go to Korda VI, you will be betrayed and Jango will watch you die.”

Both Mandalorians reared back at his words - even Rod and Rizzo looked startled.

“You know I was trained as a Jedi,” he pressed. “I get Force visions sometimes and- they’re not always right,” he admitted, “but this one felt- I don’t know. Master Windu would call this a shatterpoint,” he said, his mouth twisting bitterly. “Whatever happens on Korda VI will change- _everything.”_

“How do you know about Korda VI?” Jango demanded.

Obi-Wan frowned at him. “Didn’t- didn’t you say it?”

“No one mentioned the location of our job, _jeti’ika,”_ Jaster said, calmer than Jango, but he was clearly thinking deep thoughts.

“I don’t know where it is,” he said, “but something big is going to happen there.”

Jaster and Jango exchanged a heavy look.

“You can believe what you like, but Obi’s magic’s saved us tens of times,” Rizzo all but growled.

“Honestly, how many times have I told you-.”

“The Force isn’t magic,” Rod _and_ Rizzo chorused along with him. Jaster was doing a very bad job of hiding a smile, now, and Jango was smirking.

“If it looks like magic, sounds like magic, works like magic - it’s magic,” Rizzo shrugged.

Obi-Wan huffed.

“We’ll discuss Korda VI later,” Jaster said, levelling a quelling look at Jango, who bared his teeth at him. “But first, I think there needs to be a discussion about the _demagolkase_ here.”

He glanced at Rod and Rizzo and found identical frowns on their faces. “Dema-what?”

 _“Demagolkase,”_ Jaster patiently repeated, “monsters. The ones who are hunting you. To _Mando’ad, ad’e-_ children, they are precious to us. Only _demagolkase_ would hunt _ad’e._ It is where Jango and I found you 2,” he said, nodding at Rod and Rizzo. “We killed them and treated you best as we could, but neither of us are _baar’ur.”_

“Medics?” Obi-Wan guessed.

Jaster nodded. “But your cough, _adiik,”_ he said grimly, “that is not something that should go untreated.”

“I’m not really sure what you expect us to do about it,” Obi-Wan grit out, “our medic is _11_ and it was a necessity more than a calling.”

Jaster’s eyes blazed for a single moment and then he went carefully blank. Jango, on the other hand, just about exploded into motion, turning his back on them, throwing his hands up, and swearing up a storm in that unfamiliar language.

All 3 of them went still with alarm, Rizzo snatching up his rifle while both of them tried to shove Rod behind each other. Jaster held up a hand, cautious.

 _“Naak,”_ he coaxed, _“naak, ad’e._ He is not upset with you, rather at the _demagolkase_ who put you in this position in the first place.” He paused before adding, “And I must admit that I would prefer to join him. There is nothing right about the situation you are in.”

Rod sighed tiredly, pressing her head to his shoulder. “So what? It is what it is. For some of us - th’ Babbies, yeah, it’s all they’ve ever known.”

There was revulsion on Jaster’s face. Strangely enough, Obi-Wan understood. He remembered that exact feeling when he’d realised just how Melida/Daan politics had split and what pressure the Young were under. Maybe he’d gotten too _attached,_ but there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Jaster bowed his head. When he looked up, he had become the leader of his forces.

“I apologise, that was not my intention,” he said. “I did not mean to belittle your efforts. What I want you to know is that you are no longer alone in it.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Rod and Rizzo, wondering if they were hearing the same things he was. “What?”

“Jango and I were on a job. I did not say were were alone.”

Jango returned then, his helmet back on.

 _“Buir,_ the _ori’ramikad’e_ are in orbit awaiting your order.”

Obi-Wan stared before scrambling to his feet, Rod and Rizzo right behind him.

“What are you-?”

Jaster looked at them and the kindness had not yet left his eyes. “The _Haat Mando’ade_ will take Melida/Daan. Get under cover - we’ll be coming in hot with aerial bombardment.”

“This is still their home!”

Jaster winced apologetically. _“Strategic_ aerial bombardment,” he corrected. “Come and find Jango or me after.”

“When is after?” Rod demanded, her eyes wild.

“Your _jeti’ika_ can use his magic to find out, can’t he?” Jaster teased.

“That’s not how the Force works!” he protested.

Jaster smiled. “How long will you need to get under cover?”

“20 minutes?” They’d have to find Cerasi and Nield, too. Wait, no. “You can’t just waltz in here and-!”

Jaster’s eyes bored into him. “I can’t do anything about how this war started. What I can do is make sure it ends.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “We could be anyone. You don’t know a thing about-.”

“I know enough to see that _ad’e_ are hurting, are _dying_. That is reason enough.” The man offered him a soft smile. “Besides, a tyrant wouldn’t be trying to warn us off.” His face hardened into the mask of a leader. “You’ll have a half-hour. _K’oyacyi, ad’e._ Stay safe.”

“Nothing on this planet is safe,” Rizzo retorted. Her hand was shaking in the back of his shirt.

They made to stand, but Obi-Wan hesitated.

“What is it, _jeti’ika?”_ Jaster asked.

“I’m- sorry, for shooting you and Jango,” he mumbled.

Jaster- Jaster threw his head back and _laughed._ He reached out very carefully. Beside him, Rod and Rizzo went tense, but Obi-Wan could feel nothing but sorrowful fondness from the man. Jaster set his gloved hand on his head and, very gently and aware of the weight of his gauntlet, ruffled his hair. It had grown out from his harsh Padawan cut, and Cerasi and Nield had a half each of his Padawan braid.

Jaster was still smiling at him, radiating warmth and kindness, his eyes flickering to Rod and Rizzo to include them in this moment.

 _“K’oyacyi, ad’e,”_ he repeated. “I will see you again soon.”

Rod and Rizzo gripped his hands and pulled Obi-Wan along with them. When he looked over his shoulders, it was to see that Jaster had put his helmet back on and Jango had returned to the ship, starting it up. Jaster’s vivid cape flew in the wind, and he couldn’t help but recall his vision.

“I really hope he doesn’t go to Korda VI,” he whispered.

Rod glanced at him. “Did you really see ‘em die?”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Yeah.”

“He was alright for an adult,” Rizzo said begrudgingly. “Jango looked like he coulda been a Young.”

“He’s about Nield’s age, right?”

Rod grinned, showing off her sharp canines. “Let us be there when you tell ‘em that.”

Obi-Wan blanched. “I didn’t just rescue you 2 to head off to my own death! C’mon, we gotta hurry. Cerasi and Nield moved the camp.”

“Can you use your magic to find ‘em?” Rod asked.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not magic, but yes. They didn’t actually go far, just deeper, thankfully.”

“What was that Jaster said - aerial bombing?” Rizzo asked.

“Essentially,” he replied. “They have ships, so they’re going to fire on the Elders from them.”

It was going to be a massacre; Melida/Daan barely had anything in terms of aerial travel, let alone defence. Was he feeling any regret yet?

(The answer was no. The answer would always be no. The Mandalorians might have been an unexpected boon, but Obi-Wan knows he would have fought with the Young to the very last.)

“That’s a good thing, right?” Rod asked uncertainly.

“I think so,” he said. “The Force - it trusts Jaster.”

“What if he just takes their place?” Rod whispered. “He’d Elder, too, isn’t ‘e?”

Rizzo wraps an arm around her. “Hey, he called the Elder them monsters, right?” Close enough; Obi-Wan couldn’t even begin to think to pronounce the word Jaster had actually used. “And Jango was angry at ‘em, too. Your magic said it’d be okay, right?” She turned to him, wide brown eyes pleading.

He wrapped them both up in a tight hug. “My magic said it’d be okay,” he whispered. “I would never let anyone hurt you, not if I could help it.”

Rod was shaking now, partially out of relief, partially out of delayed fear. It took both him and Rizzo to wrangle her between them - even if Rod was small for her size, they were also malnourished and underweight. In fact, Rod and Rizzo only took on scouting because they’d grown up in this area and knew the terrain better than anyone else. They’d been good at it, too - at least until something had taken root in Rod’s lungs. Part of the reason why he’d agreed so easily was because Jaster had taken note of her cough, too, and had nothing but concern for her. If the man could get Rod the treatment she needed - heck, if they could just get the _food_ they needed, it would be enough.

“I knew what you were gonna do,” Rod whimpered, clutching at him. “You were gonna take th’ shot an’ you knew Jango’d fire. You wanted it to hit you. You wanted us to _use_ you t’ get to ‘em.”

He swallowed back the bile that surfaced with that memory. “It would’ve been for the best.”

Rod just shook her head, holding back her tears. Phlegm would only make it harder for her to breathe.

“We’re all okay,” Rizzo urged. “Rod, _we’re all okay.”_

“We will be,” he promised. “Come on, I can feel Cerasi and Nield. They’ve stopped moving so we can catch up.”

It was impossible to hide a camp with over 60 Young, only half of them mobile, but Cerasi and Nield had done their best. It helped that an unnatural silence surrounded them, even the youngest. They’d all learnt quick that any noise could get you killed.

Cerasi lit up at the sight of them, Nield not far behind.

“Oh, Rod,” Cerasi whispered, catching the smaller girl’s face between her hands.

“I’ll get ‘em to Khiyosh,” Rizzo said firmly. “You tell ‘em about Jaster and Jango.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Sure, give me the hard job. Technically, you just told them.”

Rizzo scowled at him, but her eyes were bright with relief now that they were among allies.

“Obi, what’s going on?” Cerasi asked.

“Give me a moment,” he muttered, stretching out with the Force as far as it could go. They were several floors underground and he knew from experience that the sewer walls could withstand a grenade, but it would be the greatest irony for the Mandalorians to win the day, only for the Young to be buried in rubble.

There weren’t any Elder camps in the vicinity, though, which meant that they might have a fighting chance of surviving. He’d hold up an escape route with the Force if that was what it took.

Nield shook him, lightly. “Obi-Wan.”

He sighed. “The Mandalorians you saw - they’d rescued Rod and Rizzo from a group of Elders and killed them.”

Nield frowned. “They…killed Elders? But you said they were bounty hunters. And they’re old!”

“The Elders didn’t bring them here, Nield, they brought themselves.”

“What do you mean?” Cerasi pressed.

“It was an accident,” he sighed. “They didn’t mean to stop here, they were on the way to somewhere else and just meant to resupply on Melida/Daan. They didn’t even know there was a war going on.”

Nield wrinkled his nose. “How do you _not_ know there’s a war going on?”

“Same way I did,” Obi-Wan shrugged. “There’s barely any contact with external systems and it’s all controlled by the Elders. And we all know adults listen to Elders.” If those words were bitter…Obi-Wan breathed in deep and then exhaled, releasing his emotions into the Force.

“What about those 2?” Cerasi asked. “The ones Rizzo mentioned.”

“Jaster Mereel,” Obi-Wan recalled. “He’s a good man. His son, Jango, was with him. I, uh, maybe shot them both in the throat when I saw they had Rod and Rizzo.”

“And they’re not dead?” Cerasi exclaimed.

Nield’s eyes narrowed. “That armour, wasn’t it? The one that they were wearing, that made them look like robots.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’ve never encountered anything like it. They feel…faded, in the Force, too. Like my eyes were telling me one thing but the Force was telling me something else. I could feel their presences once they took off their helmets, but with them on, I could barely even tell they were there.”

Cerasi and Nield exchanged an uneasy look, not that Obi-Wan blamed them. The Force had gotten him and the Young out of so many scraps, that it could be so easily circumvented was…troubling.

“But you said they rescued Rod and Rizzo,” Cerasi said slowly.

“And treated them,” he added. “You saw the bandages, didn’t you?” They nodded. “Jaster noticed Rod’s cough, too, but he admitted that neither he nor Jango were medics.”

“What good does that do her?” Nield scoffed bitterly, but Cerasi was shaking her head.

“But he does know medics,” she pointed out.

He bit his lip. This was going to be the difficult part. “Jaster said that what the Elders are doing to us - to the Young- was _wrong._ It was a dark thing to them, the Mandalorians, something only monsters did.”

Cerasi frowned. “What does that have to do with us?”

“I told you they were on the way to a job, right?” Their nods came slower this time. “Jaster and Jango weren’t alone.”

Both of them paled dramatically, and Cerasi had to sit down. Under her bronze skin, she just looked wan, but Nield was almost grey, haggard with worry and exhaustion.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he cooed, wrapping them both up in a tight hug, gratified when all they did was hug him back. “The Force - I think this was what it was expecting. Jaster _is_ a good man, and he doesn’t agree with what the Elders are doing. He has command of ships - Mandalorian ships, and they’re already in orbit.”

“We don’t need their help!” Nield lashed out.

“Nield.” No matter how close they’d grown in the past few months, some things were always going to come better from Cerasi. She held one of his hands in both of hers. “We can’t afford to look a gift bantha in the mouth.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. They would be lucky if Rod’s lungs were salvageable, and she was already one of the better ones. The Young that underwent amputation never fared well, but without it they died even faster. It was a terrible truth, but they _were_ dying. Obi-Wan did what he could, but he was half-trained and easily abandoned, and even then he was one of their hardest hitters. Nearly everyone else was younger than him. Everyone else _was_ younger than Nield.

“The Elders won’t be able to defend themselves against aerial bombardment,” he said quietly. “It’s one of the reasons why the Jedi cruiser was able to escape so easily, remember? There isn’t any air support on Melida/Daan.”

“And then what?” Nield spat.

“And then,” he said, reaching out for their hands, “we need to decide what’s going to happen to the planet.”

The first bomb landed then. It couldn’t have chosen better timing.

The whole bombardment only took 2 hours before everything went eerily silent again.

“Is it over?” Cerasi asked in a small voice, clutching at him and Nield, and he’d forgotten they’d never actually witnessed genuine military strength before. The Young fought with blades and blasters when they could get them, rocks and staffs when they couldn’t, and the Elders weren’t much better. Grenades and mines were a scarcity on either side, if more so for the Young.

Obi-Wan reached out with the Force. The sewers directly overhead had held, but a few of the weaker tunnels had collapsed. He would have to map their new routes around them.

He’d pulled his senses in when the bombardment had begun, shoring up the walls around their camp, but he could feel where the closest cluster of Elders had been and knew that the majority of them were dead. They were not done dying yet.

Ships had landed, too, some with presences more distant than others, strangely enough, but he just knew that these were the Mandalorians. He knew the feeling of Jaster’s mind, now, could pick it out of a crowd no matter how dim it was, with Jango’s beside it.

“For now,” he whispered back. His hands were cramping with how hard they were holding onto her and Nield, not that any of them had complained. He’d tucked his head under Nield’s jaw and Cerasi had somehow managed to octopus her arms _and_ legs around them both.

“I want to find Jaster,” he said, “but I don’t-.”

“No,” Nield said even before he’d even finished, “not with everyone.”

Cerasi smiled wanly at them. “We didn’t get this far by trusting easy,” she agreed. “Who were you thinking of?”

“Rizzo,” he thought aloud, “if she’s willing to leave Rod. She looks harmless, but she can take care of herself.”

“I can too,” Cerasi pointed out, frowning.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Don’t wanna give ‘em one of our leaders.”

“We’re giving them you, you git,” Nield muttered, tightening the grip he had on his waist.

“But I’m not you,” he said. He’d fought for the Young, would die for them, but he wasn’t truly one of them, not really. It would’ve stung more if he hadn’t been so used to always being the odd one out.

“And I’m not you, and we’re not Nield, either,” Cerasi said firmly. “So you weren’t born Melida or Daan. Y’know, a lot of us would envy you for that alone.”

“Stop being a git, Obi-Wan,” Nield said before he could come up with a response to that. “We made our choice, same as you. Who else, other than Rizzo?”

He was slightly thrown by the abrupt change of subject. “Um- Khiyosh, if they’re willing. They’ll have the best idea of what we need in terms of medical supplies, and I’ll take anything they’re willing to give. Would you consider opening this option up to the others?”

Cerasi gnawed on her lip. “The 2 who saw them this morning-.”

“Gap Teeth and Thumb?”

Nield snorted at his name for the Babbies. “Gap Teeth is Hevla. Thumb is Cy’Boath. They aren’t sure of their genders yet, but they are certain that they want to meet the robots.”

“They’re babbies,” Obi-Wan said flatly.

“We need to see if the Mandalorians can be trusted,” Nield said flatly. Obi-Wan flinched at the baldnesss of his intentions. The older boy arched an eyebrow at him. “Unless you think-?”

Obi-Wan poked the Force for an answer. “I stand by what I said earlier: Jaster is an honourable man, and he leads his forces with honour. The thing about the Elders being monsters to them because of what they were doing to us - it seems like it’s a cultural thing.”

Cerasi immediately knew what he wasn’t saying. “So the majority should be alright, but there are always bad fruits in the harvest.”

He nodded hesitantly.

Nield clicked his tongue. “What else aren’t you saying?” he demanded.

“Um. Jedi and Mandalorians have- _history.”_

“History,” Nield echoed, something dangerous lurking in his tone.

“I don’t know all the details,” Obi-Wan hedged, “but. Um. Under Republic orders, the Jedi bombed Mandalorian Space and. Um. Crippled the entire system.”

“So they’re all gonna hold a grudge against you for that,” Nield said flatly.

“Jaster and Jango know and they’re alright with it,” he blurted out.

“Or maybe it’s a trap to lure you in,” Cerasi said, gnawing her lip again.

“I’m not a Jedi anymore,” he insisted.

“But you’re still using their magic,” she countered. “Are they all going to be able to tell the difference?”

“I’m still a Young to them,” he said. “They won’t hurt me.”

“But you’re not _young,”_ Nield said grimly. “You’re only younger than Ces and me. How old did you say his son was? They were fighting together, right?”

“What happens when you age out?” Cerasi pressed.

He bowed his head, curling into their mingled warmth. “I don’t know,” he whispered, “but I have to find out.”

Nield’s arm tightened around him, and Cerasi’s leg urged him even closer. “You’re not a- a _tool,_ or whatever, okay?” the older boy spat out. “We’re not gonna just use you and leave you. You’re one of _us._ You’re _Young._ Ces already got on my case for being a git for so long, you don’t get to waste her time that way.”

Obi-Wan choked out a wet laugh. “Waste her time? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Cerasi’s giggle in his ear was like the sweetest music. “You’re going to go on to do great and beautiful things, Obi,” she whispered to them both, like it was a secret. “You’ve already done this great and beautiful thing for us. No matter what, you are Young. This is your home now.”

His stupidly rational mind said it didn’t work that way, but his stupider, emotional heart wanted to never let these 2 go. He would have to, he knew, sooner rather than later; the bombardment was definitely over now, but for this moment he clung to them, as tight as he could, and was comforted by the fact that they clung right on back.

Hevla and Cy’Baoth were given very strict instructions to hold onto at _least_ one of the Young and not let go. Obi-Wan had his rifle, and Rizzo was armed with both her _and_ Rod’s knives. Khiyosh favoured knives, too. Obi-Wan and Khiyosh would carry the babbies till the closest sewer exit, and then Rizzo, who was their smallest, would take over so he could keep his hands free for his rifle.

“Contact us for anything at all,” Cerasi insisted, gripping his hands with bruising strength. He didn’t mind; he would bear these marks proudly. Nield wordlessly pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed, and shared a handful of breaths. Ironically, it felt like he stole them all the same.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes open this time, gazing at Nield’s thick and short lashes, his pale skin, and the wonky shape of his nose. At the time, Khiyosh hadn’t been able to set it without making things worse, but Obi-Wan felt like he might not be able to recognise Nield with an unbroken nose.

Finally, he summoned the strength to pull away, gathering Cy’Baoth in his arms.

“Come back to us,” Nield ordered.

Obi-Wan rummaged up a smile. “We won’t stop trying.”

Neither Babby was truly heavy, as malnourished as they were, but Khiyosh was hardly better off, either. Rizzo took Hevla for a while but tired too quickly.

“Put Hevla on my back,” Obi-Wan said.

“You’re already carrying Cy’Baoth,” Khiyosh objected.

“It’s only for a little while,” he said. “We’ll reach the entrance soon, and I’ll be able to put them down.”

It was obvious Khiyosh didn’t want to agree. If he were being honest, Obi-Wan was going to exhaust himself before they reached the Mandalorians - he was already drawing on the Force to bolster his trembling legs. They had little choice.

The closer they drew to the sewer exit, the more foreign minds he felt around them. It made him uneasy, given how they were largely still running on adrenaline and fury. He only hoped he’d made the right choice, to trust in the kindness of Jaster’s eyes.

Just inside the exit, he inhaled deeply, drawing upon the Force.

“Stay here for now,” he whispered to the others. “You know what the all-clear feels like?”

Both Rizzo and Khiyosh nodded, having gone on runs with him before. It was the littlest of mental nudges, no words or forms or emotions attached, the lightest incursion possible into their minds. The Babbies looked confused, but held their tongues. They had been admirably silent the whole way, although Obi-Wan could feel the excitement and curiosity bubbling within. He had to smile at them, lightly brushing his fingers over their heads. Their strength and resilience never failed to astound him.

“Come back to us,” Khiyosh ordered.

Obi-Wan smiled. “I won’t stop trying.”

He slid his rifle off his shoulder in preparation. The Young weren’t _actually_ at war with the Mandalorians, and he sorely hoped they never would be, but, in the words of Cerasi, they hadn’t come this far by being trusting.

There were Mandalorians milling about everywhere, all of them armed to the teeth, appearing to be nothing more than murderous clankers. He knew exactly where Jaster was, though, that scarlet cape unmistakeable. Target as much as pennant, he recalled, and bit his lip. Korda VI couldn’t be allowed to happen; the Force was practically screaming that out to him.

There was no way of reaching Jaster unseen, though. His heart was beating so loudly, he was surprised the Mandalorians hadn’t picked up on the sound. But fear was an old familiar friend, wasn’t it? He’d forged through it time and time again, he could forge through it this time, too.

“Jaster,” he called out.

The Mandalorians turned in a wave of metal, some of them reaching for their weapons, although none were drawn once they saw him. Obi-Wan could feel the ripple of surprise, some brighter than others, swiftly followed by outrage and sorrow and some other baffling emotions that he couldn’t quite spare the time to figure out right now.

 _“Ad,”_ Jaster called back in greeting, and Obi-Wan could hear the smile in his voice, even through the vocal modulation in his helmet. “It is good to see you again. Are you on your own?”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together and forced his feet to move. “For now,” he allowed.

No one stopped him or made any move to take his rifle from him, even as he drew closer and closer to their leader. Then again, both he and Jaster already knew that his rifle was useless and he was otherwise unarmed. He saw Jango standing at his father’s shoulder, hand on his hip and blaster resting against his shoulder.

“You- really came back,” he said once they were at a speaking distance.

Jaster’s helmet was tilted down to better see him. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said bluntly. Jaster’s chuckling meant that he took no offence at his words, and neither did the surrounding Mandalorians. They were amused by what they saw as a child’s precociousness. A flash of hope surged through him; he knew what to do with that.

“It still doesn’t make sense for you to come down and kill a bunch of strangers to help out some random kids,” he said.

 _“Demagolkase_ don’t ever make sense,” Jaster replied.

Obi-Wan glanced between him and the nearest group of Mandalorians. “You’re really just- going to hand over the whole planet to us? For all you know, we could be, uh, terrorists.”

Some of the Mandalorians were openly cooing at him now, it was the weirdest thing. Jango was snickering.

“We opened communications with the, what do you call ‘em, Elders?” the older boy said. “They thought- well, what they thought doesn’t bear repeating.” Helmets were nodding in agreement. Some of them were even growling. “It wasn’t a hard choice to make, _ad’ika.”_

“Hey, Jan’ika, do you really have room to be calling the _ad_ that?” A nearby suit of armour jeered.

“Myles,” Jango ground out, “you _di’kut-!”_

Obi-Wan could practically sense Jaster rolling his eyes at them. “The _ad’ika_ has more sense than both of you combined. Get out of here, you 2.”

Jango immediately made a beeline for the other, Myles, who ducked with a yelp and ran. They were surprisingly fast, given how solid their armour looked.

“Don’t mind them,” Jaster told him, “boys will be boys, those more than most.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Is that meant to be an excuse?”

“Not- not exactly,” Jaster fumbled, and he could tell he’d wrong-footed the man somehow, but he didn’t know how to press his advantage. “May I ask where are the rest of you, _ad’ika?_ How else may we help you?”

“Has anyone told you it’s mighty weird to sweep into somewhere and help a bunch of kids?” he asked. “’Cause it’s really kinda weird. No one helped the Young, or if they did, it was a trick.”

“It isn’t,” Jaster instantly said, _“ori’haat,_ I would not do that to _ad’e_ in need. Or to _ad’e_ at all. It is the duty of _Mando’ade_ to protect _ad’e._ That is all we wish.”

“We could run this planet to the ground,” he pressed. If the man was going to get fed up with him asking variations of the same question, better he get it out of his system now than expose another Young to his temper.

“To me, it was already being run to the ground by the _demagolkase_ you call the Elders,” Jaster evenly replied. “I would only ask that you not repeat your predecessors’ mistakes.”

Obi-Wan’s hands clenched on his rifle. “That’s all we ever wanted,” he said, “an end to the fighting. There wasn’t even a point to it anymore; no one could remember why the fighting had started, just that they had always been fighting, so all they wanted to do was to continue that fight for the rest of their lives. And _our_ lives, too.” He swallowed harshly. “When the children of Melida/Daan tried to stop it, tried to say that enough was enough - they took that fight to them, instead.”

“The children,” Jaster realised. “The- literal children. You call yourselves the Young. Do you mean to say your parents - the Elders were _your parents?”_

Obi-Wan rapidly shook his head. “Not me, not mine, I don’t have any- I mean, I never knew my parents. But some of the others- there’s a reason why I’m one of the oldest. We did what we could to keep the younger ones, the Babbies, safe. You might argue that we made the choice for them, but I don’t know how it could’ve been any other way. Even if they wanted to go back, the Elders still saw them as Young.”

Horror, pity, and revulsion wafted off the Mandalorians so strongly he found it hard to breathe.

“You know that for a fact.”

“At the start, some did try to go back. We wouldn’t have stopped them, we just- made sure any intel they had was outdated. But- they became _Examples.”_ Obi-Wan dug his nails into the stock of his rifle. “Say what you will about the Young, but we learn fast. Weren’t many who wanted to go back, not after that.”

“We killed them too quick,” a nearby Mandalorian said bleakly.

“I’m sure there are more _demalgokase_ stillhiding around,” another hissed back. “There are always parasites around.”

“Looking to clean house?” Yet another Mandalorian asked, and then they were having a rapid-fire conversation in their language as they stalked away, shoulders stiff. Obi-Wan watched them go with a frown, uncertain.

“Your fellow _vod’e_ will come to no harm from any of mine,” Jaster said, drawing his attention again, _“ori’haat._ In fact, I would request that you speak with my _baar’ur’alor,_ that we could know how best to help you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed tightly. “Your medic?” he guessed, recognising the base word.

“My chief medic,” Jaster gently corrected, gesturing at a neighbouring suit of armour, one with green streaks down their limbs.

Obi-Wan drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and then released his emotions into the Force. “Then it’s best that your chief medic talk to my chief medic.” He fidgeted with the stock of his rifle, and then carefully and deliberately slung it over his shoulder. Jaster straightened, as if he knew what this action had cost him. Obi-Wan sorely wanted to believe that he did.

“I’m going to trust you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself. “Please don’t make me regret it.”

“Oh, _ad’ika,”_ Jaster sighed, removing his helmet and revealing terrible helmet hair and his kind, kind eyes, “the only thing I regret is not getting here sooner.”

Obi-Wan sent the all-clear to Rizzo and Khiyosh. A handful of moments later, he saw Rizzo cautiously peer out from behind a rock, Havla clinging to her neck. The Babby’s eyes seemed like they couldn’t get any rounder.

 _“Robots,”_ Havla marvelled.

Cy’Baoth squirmed out from between Rizzo’s legs, although they made sure to always be in contact with the older girl. “Wobots!” they agreed brightly, their thumb still in their mouth. Khiyosh met his eye. The group only started inching forward when he nodded.

Jaster’s medic removed their helmet to reveal a Mirialan female with tattoos on her cheekbones and forehead.

“I am Ronei [1],” she said, going down on one knee so she could speak to them eye-to-eye. “I have been well met.”

“Khiyosh,” they said shortly.

“I heard one of you has a bad cough,” Ronei said.

“Rod,” Rizzo blurted out, clutching Havla. “There’s- she’s been coughin’ out blood an’ it’s been gettin’ worse.”

“Does anyone else have a cough?” Ronei asked, only for Rizzo to furiously shake her head. "Good, that means it's not infectious." 

Khiyosh looked uncertain but rallied admirably. “The amputations,” they said.

“Am…putations,” Ronei slowly repeated, exchanging an alarmed look with Jaster.

Obi-Wan frowned. “Do Mandalorians… _not_ practise amputation?”

“No, in the worst case scenarios, we do,” Ronei replied, “but- I beg your pardon, I didn’t think _ad’e_ would. Why-?”

Khiyosh shrugged with unconvincing glibness. “The Elders liked to use landmines,” they said bluntly. “This was before Obi joined us.”

Ronei sent him a startled look. “I’ve a- a knack, I guess,” Obi-Wan stammered out. “I could figure out where the mines were and safely disarm them.” And bait the Elders right back with their own weapons, but that wasn’t really the point right now.

“But a bomb would have shrapnel or we’d get limbs blown to bits,” Khiyosh continued. “There was only so much in the way of supplies, and amputation weren’t a guarantee or anything, but without it we died to a one.”

Ronei went yellow, her nostrils flaring. “We will do all that we can for your _vod’ike_ , I swear,” she ground out.

“Not a robot?” Havla asked tentatively, leaning forward from where they were perched in Rizzo’s arms.

Ronei blinked rapidly, fighting for composure before she offered Havla a brittle smile. “No, I’m afraid not, _ikaad.”_

“No robot,” Havla said sadly to Cy’Baoth, who made an equally sad gurgle.

“You’ll…help us?” Khiyosh asked.

“However we can, _ad, ori’haat,”_ Ronei promised.

“You and Jaster keep saying that,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “Ori- orita?”

 _“Ori’haat,”_ Jaster gently repeated. “It is a promise to you, that we would not lie.”

“Khiyosh,” Ronei said, “I would like to see your _vod’ike_ as soon as possible. It sounds like their injuries are graver than I expected.”

“But you will be able to help them?” Khiyosh pressed.

“However we can,” Ronei repeated, with a slightly more genuine smile. Khiyosh turned to him, a clear dilemma in their eyes.

“I’ll stay here with Havla and Cy’Baoth,” Obi-Wan offered, plucking the gap-toothed child from Rizzo’s arms. “You’d know best how to transport them.”

“My team can help,” Ronei said, pushing upright and gesturing several others forward.

“Thanks, but, uh, we’re not going to trust you,” Obi-Wan said, making a face at how blunt he was being. “We’ve always been able to move under our own power, and it’s not something we’re going to give up for anything.”

“We are the Young,” Rizzo and Khiyosh intoned together, and then looked at each other, startled. Obi-Wan’s laughter was edging on hysterical, but he didn’t really think he could be blamed for that. He shifted Havla to one arm and then reached out to tug Khiyosh and Rizzo forward, all 3 of their heads colliding none too gently.

“Come back to me,” he ordered.

Khiyosh and Rizzo glanced at each other and nodded. “We won’t stop trying.”

He tried to give Rizzo his rifle but she shook her head. “Keep it,” she said, grabbing Khiyosh’s hand so they could dash back where they’d come from.

Obi-Wan held Havla tighter in lieu of their absence and Cy’Baoth huddled closer, small fingers plucking at his trousers.

 _“Ad’ika,”_ Jaster said softly. He glanced up.

“I don’t think I could convince you to go and rest while your _vod’ika_ make their way here, could I?”

Obi-Wan sent him a lopsided smile as he shook his head. “I could- sit down, I guess? I might need to sit down anyway.”

Alarm flashed across Jaster’s face as he quickly caught his elbow and gently guided him to the ground. He himself clattered down beside him much more carelessly.

“Say something sooner in that case, _ad’ika,”_ Jaster huffed. “There’s no one left to impress.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone, I’m trying to keep my people from dying,” he retorted as he gathered both Babbies into his lap. They both wanted to sit facing out; it appeared Ronei’s admission that the Mandalorians weren’t robots didn’t make them any less interesting to watch.

“I will say it as many times as you need to hear it,” Jaster said, “but you are safe here.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip before saying, “It’s honestly nothing personal, ‘cause you’ve been strangely decent, but trust isn’t going to come easily, if at all.”

Ronei stood up abruptly. “Excuse me, _Mand’alor,_ I need to prepare for my influx of patients.” She paused on the verge of turning around and dropped back into a careful crouch beside them. “Would it be alright if I sent 2 of my officers to wait with you? They could help to entertain the _ikaad'e.”_

Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Havla and Cy’Baoth uncertainly, resolutely ignoring the silent, wide-eyed looks of excitement they sent him. He made the fatal error of looking down, directly into those tooka eyes. Jaster snorted, so Obi-Wan promptly redirected those looks his way. The man bit back a curse, definitely a little wild-eyed now.

“Ronei, I’ll- I’ll get Silas and Myles to sit and wait with us,” he stammered.

Ronei managed to smile as she waved goodbye. Uncertainly, Havla and Cy’Baoth raised their hands and timidly waved back. Ronei’s smile grew more genuine then.

“Your _vod’ike’s_ resilience astounds me,” Jaster told him quietly after he’d issued a handful of orders into his comm.

Obi-Wan lightly stroked down Havla’s nose, and then booped Cy’Baoth, startling them enough to release their thumb. “They didn’t have much else of a choice in all this. Would it be kinder for them to forget? I don’t know.”

“Would you want to forget, _ad’ika?”_

There were 2 Mandalorians making their way over, led by Jango. One of them had bright blue vambraces marking him as the one Jango had chased earlier, Myles. The other had army-green vambraces, but both of them bore orange pauldrons. The other Mandalorians had gradually departed, clearing the path between them and the sewer exit.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he returned. “Where did the others go?”

“I have promised you our aid,” Jaster said, “and you will receive it, but yours is not the only duty we have.”

Obi-Wan was abruptly grateful he was already sitting else his knees might have buckled. “Korda VI,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Jaster nodded grimly, “we will have to figure out what to do about that mess.” One corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Did you happen to see any more details, or who the _aruetii_ might be?”

He didn’t know that word, but given the context he guessed. “I’m not sure how much you know about the Force,” he huffed, “but it doesn’t actually work like that. If I had a boon for every time I had to say those words, this war would’ve never started.”

If they were speaking of this so freely among these 2 new Mandalorians, he took that to mean they also wouldn’t murder him for being ex-Jedi.

Jaster chuckled, a warm sound. “You can’t blame me for trying, _ad’ika.”_

“Told you it wouldn’t work,” Jango said grumpily, dropping to the ground beside his father. The sound startled the Babbies in his lap, but they were soon cooing over the different colours the ‘robots’ were painted. From the way Jango ducked his head, Obi-Wan rather thought he was embarrassed.

 _“Ad’ike,”_ he said gruffly, “this is Silas,” jabbing a thumb at the Mandalorian with green vambraces, “and that one is _di’kut._ Say it with me, di-kut-.”

“Don’t teach the _ad’ike_ that, _di’kut,”_ Myles interrupted, choking back a laugh of his own. He pulled off his helmet to reveal a young humanoid male with laughing, pale eyes and paler skin, and shaggy dark hair.

 _“Di’kut,”_ Silas huffed, “you both deserve that name.” He was a humanoid male, too, with hair as short and dark as Jaster’s, his own skin just a shade lighter.

Jaster rolled his eyes at all of them. “All _3_ of you are _di’kut’e,”_ he retorted.

“Robot?” Havla said hopefully, pointing as Jango, who froze.

“Uh, sorry to disappoint, but-.”

“I’m a robot too!” Myles crowed, jamming his helmet back on.

“Wobot,” Cy’Baoth cooed.

Obi-Wan bit back his smile, but he admittedly wasn’t trying very hard. Myles was all exuberant, bubbling joy, and even with his helmet back on, his presence in the Force was barely muffled. Perhaps their armours were made out of different materials.

“This is all very kind, but it doesn’t tell me what you expect or what you’re going to do about Korda VI.”

Silas glanced at him with an appraising look on his naked face. “ _Ad be’Mand’alor_ said you knew about Korda VI, but it’s still a bit of a shock to hear it from you.”

“Shock,” Obi-Wan repeated flatly. “You look positively astonished.”

Jango and Silas snickered while Jaster and Myles laughed outright. The Babbies looked overjoyed at the laughter and added their own rusty, near-silent giggles. Obi-Wan stroked a hand through their matted hair. The Babbies had very little cause to laugh, in the sewers. No matter what else, he could be grateful to the Mandalorians for giving them this.

“Is it Manda?” Silas asked.

“Manda?” he parroted blankly.

Jango made an impatient noise. “Does it matter?” he asked. “The _ad’ika_ has more than enough _mandokar’la_ to fill a dropship twice over. If he even drops a hint of wanting to Integrate, he’ll be beating off _vod’e_ wanting to adopt him with a stick.”

“Awww,” Myles cooed, “Jan’ika, I’ll call you _ori’vod_ if you-.”

“Do you get anything done with them around?” Obi-Wan asked Jaster with genuine curiosity.

“Silas is one of my lieutenants,” the man replied. “Jango is my heir, and Myles is his second.”

“You didn’t actually answer my question,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

Myles was snickering again, ribbing Jango none-too-gently while Silas somehow managed to imply amusement without ever once changing his expression. Jaster gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Eventually,” he muttered.

Obi-Wan had to smile faintly at that. Jaster reminded him of Bant, a little, when she was dealing with him and Siri and Garen and Reeft at the same time. Quin would interrupt her diatribe to triumphantly crow that he hadn’t been mentioned, only for Bant to turn on him and call him worse than all of them combined. If he remembered them like unmoving, unchanging stained glass pictures, it hurt less than to consider them moving on without him. Did they even still remember him? Did they even still care?

He inhaled deeply, and then released his emotions into the Force. No, he’d made his choice, one which didn’t have room for regrets. Havla squirmed close, and Cy’Baoth patted his face with a hand - thankfully with the one that hadn’t been in their mouth. No, no regrets.

“I haven’t seen anything else that could help you, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Do you know if stepping foot on Korda VI would mean automatic death, or do I have some leeway there?” Jaster asked.

Obi-Wan scowled. “You know, most times, when I tell someone a certain place leads to their death, they don’t try and schutta their way there anyway.”

Myles chortled. “Oh, _ad’ika,_ I do like you. You’ll keep us all on our toes, I can already tell.”

 _“Ad’ika,”_ Jaster pressed.

He huffed, cuddling the Babbies tighter as he prodded the Force, trying to convey his own irritation. The Force only seemed as amused as Myles, of all people, swirling happily around Jaster. How strange.

“No,” he sighed, “it won’t mean automatic death, but it’ll be close. Unless you figure out who the traitor is - but if the trap js already set, it might not even matter.”

Jango exchanged a look with Myles and Silas. “Unless we set a trap of our own.”

“Which would imply that you already know what trap had been set and by who,” Obi-Wan countered.

“We can guess,” Jango scoffed. “The New Mandalorians won’t dirty their lily-white hands, but they’re more than willing to pit _Haat Mando’ade_ against _Kry’tsad._ Viszla, that _hut’uun,_ has it out for _Buir.”_

Obi-Wan gazed at him, amused despite himself. “You do realise I understood maybe half of what you just said. I can guess most of it, but I can also guess when I need to know the exact meaning of things.”

Jango ducked his head, chagrined again.

“It would need to include a brief history of _Mando’ade, ad’ika,”_ Jaster said kindly.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Obi-Wan said firmly, “especially since it seems that peppering in Mandalorian willy-nilly is a bit of a habit you all share.”

“Willy-nilly,” Myles breathed.

“No,” Jango said flatly.

“Willy-nilly!” Myles protested.

 _“No,”_ Jango insisted.

“Willy-nilly,” Myles whined.

“No,” Jango growled.

“My _ad_ is going to be such a great _buir,”_ Jaster said proudly.

“He already gets in so much practice,” Silas drawled.

Jango turned that growl on the 2 older men before settling back down. The Babbies, rather than look afeared, just seemed thrilled that a robot could _growl._ If Jango weren’t careful, he might receive a request for a repeat performance.

“Currently, there are 3 factions warring for power among _Mando’ade_ \- the Mandalorians,” he explained. “The New Mandalorians, who are all pacifist _hut’uun'e;_ us, _Haat Mando’ade,_ the True Mandalorians; and _Kry’tsad,_ Death Watch, the _shabuir’e aruetiise dar’mando’ade…”_ and the rest of his growling diatribe dissolved into what Obi-Wan guessed were swearwords.

He glanced at the others and immediately dismissed Myles as useless, seeing as how the young man was laughing so hard he was barely remaining upright. So he turned to Silas and Jaster and said, “He _does_ know that he really isn’t helping unless he wants me to pick up Mandalorian swearwords.”

“Isn’t that how most people learn a new language?” Jaster mused. “Either through swearwords or counting.”

“It might be more helpful to get you one of the Integration guides,” Silas suggested. “They have a glossary of commonly used _Mando’a_ terms and their Basic translations. It’s a cultural guide, too, and explains about our armour- our _Beskar’gam,_ the important of family- _aliit,_ and our _Resol’nare-_ our creed.”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” he sighed, relieved that at least one of them had sense. The Force might like Jaster for reasons unknown, but it had also favoured Quin, who was at once the best and worse character reference.

Silas just looked at him as if he understood what was going through his mind and nodded. “There is a saying in _Mando’a: kaysh mirsh solus._ Literally, his brain cell is lonely. I’m afraid it would be more accurate to say _their_ brain cell is lonely.”

“Silas,” Jaster crowed, “you wound your _Mand’alor!”_

“I’m guessing mandalor is a bit of a big deal?” he asked, fumbling over the foreign word.

Silas snorted while Myles doubled over laughing again. There was some sort of animal skull painted on Myles’ pauldron but Obi-Wan wondered if a hyenax wouldn’t be more accurate.

 _“Mand_ is us - Mandalore, the system, the planet, its people,” Silas explained. _“Alor_ means-.”

“Chief!” he exclaimed, remember Jaster’s earlier introduction of Ronei. His eyes widened as he took in the man’s lopsided smile. “You’re the chief of Mandalore?” he yelped. “Should I be calling you Your Majesty? Or Your Highness or Your-?”

“No, no, I like it when you call me Jaster, _ad’ika,”_ the man coaxed. “Besides, you and the _ad’e_ are not _Mando’ad,_ you are not beholden to our laws.” His smile widened. “I did like it when you called me _buir,_ though.” 

Myles choked, which seemed a little unhygienic while he still had his helmet on. “How did _that_ happen?”

“It was an accident, and I didn’t understand what that word meant at the time,” Obi-Wan explained. “That was what Jango was called Jaster, so I thought it was his name.”

Myles helmet swivelled between parent and child several times, but since he remained silent, Obi-Wan chose to ignore him.

“Does that mean you _are_ going to Korda VI?” he asked Jaster.

“I took a contract,” the man replied, smiling faintly, “and I keep my word.”

“Is your life more important than your word?”

“They are very, very close,” Jaster answered.

“But what if your word was given in poor faith?” He winced when all the Mandalorians stiffened. “I’m sorry, that was badly phrased. I mean- you gave your word, yes, but it isn’t fair that an agreement is binding if only one side makes it in good faith. I’m sorry, I don’t know if I’m saying it right-.”

“No, _ad’ika,”_ Silas said slowly, “you may have a point. This is something we should consider, _‘Alor.”_

“Only if we can find concrete proof,” Jaster said, “otherwise we spring the trap and catch the _aruetii_ in the act.”

“Hasn’t anyone taught you to make calculated risks while gambling, _‘Alor?”_ Silas huffed.

“I mean, do you have suspects?” Obi-Wan asked. “I’m not asking for details,” he quickly assured them, “I don’t know enough about your forces to say either way, but if you do, and you know where their triggers lie, couldn’t you, you know, spring the trap here instead of Korda VI, where they would have reinforcements?”

“You have given us much to consider, _ad’ika,”_ Jaster murmured, stroking his chin, “and I must thank you for it.” He arched an eyebrow at the other 3 men. “I think you ought to give the _ad’ika’s_ words serious thought. Could you send along Ronei’s actual team?”

Myles sent him a lazy salute. _“’Lek, Mand’alor. Ret’urcye mhi, ad’e.”_

The babbies seemed to understand that their robot was leaving.

“Bye, Robot,” Havla said sadly.

“Wobot,” Cy’Baoth sighed.

“You torture me, _ikaad’e,”_ Myles moaned. Jaster huffed and hooked his elbow around the older man, hauling him to his feet. Silas nodded politely and followed after them both, giving Myles a pointed shove when he ducked away from Jango and tried to double-back to the Babbies.

“I’m going to give you a heads-up,” Jaster said, mouth twitching, “but Myles will adopt the _ikaad’e_ in a heartbeat given the chance.”

“Adopt?” Obi-Wan asked blankly.

Jaster smiled. “It’s not a bad thing - quite the opposite, in fact. _Mando’ade_ have a very loose adoption policy. Ronei is Mirialan, Silas is Korun, I am mostly human. None of us is any less _Mando’ad_ than the next. Silas was onto something when he suggested getting you an Integration guide. We treasure all _ad’e,_ be they ours or anyone else’s.”

“I’m…starting to realise that,” he said softly.

It seemed like such a counter-intuitive idea to have an entire culture built on adopting other cultures, but, really, the only thing the Mandalorians seemed to have in common was the fact that they all wore armour, never mind that every single set was different.

“Your creed,” he recalled. “Silas said something about a res-resolution?”

 _“Resol’nare?”_ Jaster asked.

 _“Resol’nare?”_ 2 new Mandalorians approached, one with dark blue streaks on their armour and the other with green and black patterns painted on. “Are you looking for another foundling, _‘Alor?”_

Jaster openly rolled his eyes. “Nezra,” he introduced, nodding at the one in dark blue, “and Khal,” he nodded at the other. “The _ad’ika,_ and the _ikaad’e_ are Havla and Cy’Baoth.”

“More robots,” Havla cooed, clapping their hands.

“Wobots!” Cy’Baoth happily echoed.

 _“Su cuy’gar, ikaad’e,”_ Nezra said, gracefully settling on the ground. Khal wiggled their fingers at the babbies. Nezra’s helmet turned in his direction.

 _“Ad’ika,”_ she said, “no pressure, but do you have a name you would like to be called? Or we can continue to call you _ad’ika.”_

Obi-Wan blinked. “I had wondered about that.”

Jaster’s smile was a small and soft thing. “You never offered, _ad’ika,_ and I would not presume.” 

“Oh,” he said. “I- hadn’t realised. I’m Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Khal’s helmet whipped around. _“Stewjoni’ad?”_

“Uh- bless you?”

Nezra laughed, a delicate, musical sound. “No, Khal meant to ask if you are from Stewjon?”

“I…don’t know?” he asked, casting a hesitant glance towards Jaster. “I meant it when I said I never knew my parents. The- um. Well. It’s where all my first memories were, I don’t remember anything else.”

He could somehow sense that Nezra was frowning. “Were you kidnapped?” she demanded.

“Um. No?”

“You don’t sound very certain, _ad’ika,”_ Nezra pressed.

“No,” he repeated, slightly firmer. “I was happy.” Almost immediately he bit his lip. Being happy and being kidnapped weren’t mutually exclusive things. That said, he _knew_ the Jedi weren’t actually child snatchers, and Jaster had been so careful about not letting his history slip. He sent a pleading look the man’s way.

“Oh, put those tooka eyes away, _ad’ika,”_ Jaster laughed. “Leave him alone, Nezra. She’s a _mir’baruur,”_ he explained, “a- a soul healer, I suppose, would be the closest translation. Talking to her is a bit of an occupational hazard sometimes.” But he smiled at Nezra to take the sting from his words. “Khal, why did you think the _ad’ika_ was _Stewjoni’ad?”_

Khal seemed uncertain, fiddling with their gauntleted fingers.

“Wobot?” Cy’Baoth asked.

“Robot sad?” was Havla’s follow-up.

“I’m not sad, _ikaad,”_ Khal sighed, reaching for their helmet clasps. They removed their helmet to reveal a tumble of steel-grey hair. They had rather familiar blue-grey-green eyes, almost identical to ones he saw in his own reflection.

“Khal was the name I took at my adoption,” they told him. “But when I was first found by my _buir,_ my name was Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He stared, struck wordless.

Khal grimaced. “It is less of a name and more of a title, a placeholder for clanless _Stewjoni’ad_. They are not named till several months after birth, and the title Obi-Wan Kenobi is given to those whose families are unable or unwilling to name them [2].” 

He didn’t think he could be struck wordless more than once, but Khal proved him wrong.

“I apologise, _ad’ika,”_ they said. “There is no kind way to say such a thing.”

“It’s not your fault,” Obi-Wan said faintly. Could that even really be his name?

 _“Ad’ika,”_ Khal said, leaning forward, “if it is the name you answer to, the name by which you identify, it is yours. It sounds like you grew up outside Stewjoni culture, which means that their practices are not yours.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what to think right now,” he whispered.

“You will have the time,” Khal said, nodding.

“I- don’t even know what it means to be Stewjoni,” he confessed.

Khal huffed, running their hands through their hair. There was a genuine metallic sheen to their tresses and he wondered if that was a Stewjoni thing, too. He’d known that he was redheaded and Bant had called his hair colour ‘copper’ before, but at the temple it had always been a little too short to tell, and on Melida/Daan it was too filthy.

“You say you weren't kidnapped, but taking you without any understanding of your culture is just as bad.”

“I-.”

 _“Ad’ika.”_ He looked at Jaster. The man reached out slowly so he could see it coming. Jaster put that hand on his shoulder and squeezed tight, before moving to gently ruffle his hair again. “You can ask for help if you need it. Nezra may be _mir’baruur,_ but Khal is no _di’kut_ either.”

Obi-Wan summoned up a pale smile. “With the way things are, _di’kut_ is going to be the first Mandalorian word I’m going to pick up.”

Nezra laughed again, that beautiful bell-like laugh. “Who have you been introducing the _ad’ika_ to, _‘Alor?”_

Jaster snorted. “My _ad,_ who else?”

Khal huffed. “That explains it.”

“That’s your _ad be’Mand’alor,_ Khal,” Jaster protested, but he was clearly teasing. The man turned those kind, kind eyes back to him. “We are here to help all of the _ad’e,_ not just those native to Melida/Daan. It includes you, too.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. “You said it yourself that you were going to leave.”

“In time, everyone leaves,” Jaster agreed, stretching his arms out overhead. He waited until Obi-Wan looked at him before winking, cheeky and warm. “But in time, they also come back.”

He drew in a deep breath, feeling the Force fill his lungs and every last vein in his body. When he exhaled, he didn’t release this emotion into the Force, though. He let the uncertainty linger, bleeding into fear, but - Obi-Wan knew what to do with fear, didn’t he? He was a bit of an old hat at that after all.

“Then- I. Um. I would appreciate that Mandalorian guide Silas mentioned. And, um. Khal.” He bit his lip. “If you had the time.” He hadn’t even noticed when his voice dropped to a whisper. “Perhaps you could tell me about Stewjon?”

 _“Ad’ika.”_ He looked up to find Khal’s arm, oustretched in front of him. Khal didn’t reach for his hand; they clasp his wrist instead.

“It would be my pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> The series title is from Quintus Ennius: Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and from through the mouths of men. This part's title is from Mary Oliver’s poem, ‘Wild Geese’.
> 
> [1] Ronei - Mirialan name that symbolises perseverance  
> [2] tysm Charientist for letting me know that this comes from ziggyzigzagged 'Ib'tuur Jatne Tuur Ash'ad Kyr'amur '! It's been tagged in the inspo section. Have I mentioned how much I love this fandom? 
> 
> Heyy, yall are utter loves for commenting the way you do, and I'm afraid I'm still not terribly used to the way ao3 counts your own comment as, well, a comment? It's still a little weird to me. SO. As a rule of thumb, I won't reply to comments, but I DO read every single one of them and squee EVERY SINGLE TIME. HOWEVER. If you would like a reply, or have a question, or anything of that sort, also feel free to hmu :DDD (except for updates, coz honestly I update faster when I'm not being hounded)


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